


5 Times Castiel was Heaven's Most Wanted

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...but actually 6, 5 Times, Angst, BAMF Winchesters, Caring Sam, Dean Saves Castiel, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm hunted, I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This very loosely follows canon in terms of the season arcs. (I just wanted an excuse to write BAMF!Winchesters coming to Cas’s rescue.) So some of these snapshots will be things that could have taken place between episodes, and others will be blatant AUs. No logical plot here, just shameless whump and h/c. And I know these 5 Times things are typically just a one-shot, but the various pieces kinda got away from me, so it will be multi-chaptered.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural.

5

They’d set a trap for him. Castiel shouldn’t have been that surprised; he was second on Heaven’s Most Wanted list after Lucifer for rebelling. What hurt was they had callously used his faith and hope in finding God against him, setting up signs and wonders to draw his attention. Even the Winchesters had noticed, and Sam had called to see if Cas had heard about the potential God lead, which he already had. Still, it was…nice, that the younger Winchester was being supportive of Castiel’s quest.

Unfortunately it was all for naught. The moment Castiel arrived at the old farm, he felt a searing pain score across his back, slicing through tissue to expose his grace underneath—and cutting through his wing. He staggered, twisting around to see one of his brothers holding an angel blade tipped with fresh crimson. There was a soft rustle, and a second angel appeared behind him, grabbing one arm and wrenching it painfully behind his back while the first marched over to seize the other, effectively restraining him.

A third presence joined them, and Castiel stiffened as he recognized it. Zachariah slowly stepped forward, hands tucked casually in his pants’ pockets as he regarded Castiel with smug satisfaction.

“Well, look at you,” his former superior said, shrewd eyes roving up and down. “What were you hoping to accomplish, Castiel? Run to Daddy and beg forgiveness, beg to return to the fold? You could have come to me, you know. All you’d have to do to earn forgiveness is tell me where Dean Winchester is, and then you can come home.”

Castiel gritted his teeth, the throbbing in his back threatening to spill out in an unseemly groan. “God can stop the Apocalypse. None of this has to happen.”

Zachariah’s brows actually rose to his hairline. “You really believe that, don’t you? Raphael wasn’t kidding.” He shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “I don’t understand you, Castiel. You were such a good soldier, and now…” Zachariah gestured vaguely. “Now you’re clinging to some ridiculous faith and not even realizing you’ve already turned your back on it!”

“Angels have been manipulating events,” Castiel ground out. “Giving their own orders. I’m not the one who lost faith; you have.”

A snarl replaced Zachariah’s neutral expression, and suddenly he was inches from Castiel’s face, one hand fisting in Castiel’s hair to wrench his head back so he was forced to look up at the other angel. “You’ve been spending too much time with those Winchesters, you insolent piece of shit. At least I finally get to check off one item on my to-do list.” He reached his other hand into his suit jacket and pulled out an angel blade.

Castiel instinctively struggled, but the two angels holding him were like granite statues. Zachariah’s eyes lit up with relish as he lifted the blade…and then widened in shock as a voice echoed from somewhere outside.

“ _Hey, Zach! You wanted me, you bastard, come and get me!_ ”

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath. Dean. No, that was impossible. How could he be here?

Zachariah spared Castiel one more glance, and then slammed the pommel of the angel blade against his temple. The other angels let him crumple to the floor. “You, watch him,” Zachariah ordered, motioning for the other to follow him outside.

Castiel struggled to sit upright, but the remaining angel merely planted a foot against his chest and shoved him back down. He couldn’t help the strangled cry that escaped his throat as it put pressure on his injured wing, and he quickly rolled onto his stomach. Dean’s voice was still speaking, though it sounded oddly amplified with a faint crackle of static.

“ _What’s the matter, Zach?_ Still _can’t find me when I’m right in front of you? Boy, are you lousy at your job._ ”

Castiel had grown somewhat used to Dean’s irreverent attitude, but even this was borderline horrifying. Just because the angels needed the Righteous Man to become Michael’s vessel didn’t mean they wouldn’t punish him first.

He heard a faint scuff on the ground and craned his head in time to see Dean slipping in through the back door of the barn. He blinked in confusion; how had he gotten there so fast when Dean’s voice was clearly coming from the opposite direction?

The angel on guard finally heard something as well and started to turn. Dean plastered on a bright smile. “Hey there.”

Sam emerged from the shadows to the side and jammed an angel blade through the lackey’s throat. He let out a garbled gasp as light burst forth from his mouth and eyes. Sam withdrew the blade, and the dead angel dropped to the ground. Then both brothers were kneeling next to Castiel, Sam gripping his shoulders to help him sit upright while Dean took a knife to his own forearm and began painting a blood sigil on the ground.

Castiel’s eyes widened when he recognized the whorls and shape of an angel banishing sigil. He wanted to open his mouth and say that was a very bad idea…but he also didn’t want the Winchesters to be caught by Zachariah. Even if that meant Castiel would be banished in a blinding white flare of pure agony with the rest of the angels.

Castiel sensed Zachariah and the other angel returning, and he braced himself for the expected ripping vortex. Zachariah’s expression of disbelief was priceless, though, when he stormed through the barn doors and spotted the Winchesters.

“Hey guys,” Dean grinned.

This was it… But then Dean yanked Castiel’s arm out and slammed the angel’s hand onto the sigil. Castiel was too stunned to register that the flash of light and angry cries were coming from the other angels and not himself. White spots flitted across his vision, and as it gradually cleared, he found the barn empty except for him and the Winchesters, the blood sigil now a smoldering charred line.

Dean let go of Castiel’s wrist. “I never get tired of doing that.”

Sam snorted, while Castiel blinked in bewilderment. What had just happened? Had Dean actually had the foresight to remember any angel in the vicinity would be banished unless they activated the sigil themselves?

The older Winchester’s face suddenly loomed in his immediate field of vision. “Cas, hey buddy, you okay?” A hand gripped his chin lightly and turned his head to the side. “Can angels get concussions?”

“I’m fine,” he managed to get out, albeit not in a very strong voice. “How…what are you doing here?”

“We got to thinking how these God signs seemed a little too convenient,” Sam explained. “And since we weren’t far away, we figured we’d check it out, see if you needed backup.” He tilted Castiel forward and started picking at the back of his coat. His voice lowered an octave. “Shit, it’s glowing.”

“What?” Dean leaned over to get a look, then added his own muttered curse.

“Angel blade,” Castiel supplied.

“I take it those injuries don’t heal so fast.”

“They will,” he assured them.

“We’ll still give you a patch job in the meantime,” Sam spoke up. “But not here.” He slipped an arm around Castiel’s lower back and hauled him up. Castiel bit his lip to keep from groaning.

As they shuffled outside, he managed to catch his breath enough to speak again. “I don’t understand; I heard you out front. How did you get to the rear of the barn so quickly?”

Dean grinned and held up his cell phone. “I know how to be in two places at once.” He punched one of the buttons with his thumb, and an oddly echoed mimicry of his own voice filled the air.

“ _You going for most incompetent angel of the year award, Zach?_ ”

Castiel just stared at him, and finally Dean shook his head as he jogged toward the tree line and picked up a digital voice recorder.

“Distraction, Cas.”

“Oh. That’s…very clever.”

Dean looked mildly pleased, and they continued making their way down the drive to where the boys had left the Impala. Sam eased Castiel into the backseat and stuffed a wadded up towel behind his back. To stop the bleeding, he’d explained. Dean retrieved their first aid kit, and then the elder Winchester got behind the wheel while Sam sat in the back and started cleaning the cut above Castiel’s brow.

After several minutes of driving in silence, Dean cleared his throat. “So, guess Heaven’s pretty serious about hunting you down, huh?”

Castiel looked out the window at the passing trees, a deep ache settling in his chest. “I am the new Lucifer,” he said quietly, echoing the Devil’s own venomous words from Carthage.

“No you’re not,” Sam said emphatically, the force of which drew Castiel’s gaze back. “You’re nothing like Lucifer, never will be.”

Castiel felt his own expression soften. “Thank you, Sam. But in the eyes of Heaven…”

“Heaven’s wrong about a lot of stuff,” Dean interrupted. “Hell, the dicks upstairs are more like Nazis than servants of Heaven. You, Cas,” he met Castiel’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “You’re what the angels are supposed to be.”

Castiel didn’t know why such a declaration meant so much to him, but some of that ache in his spirit seemed to ease.

“I’m sorry helping us made you a target,” Dean spoke up a few moments later.

Castiel remained silent for a few beats while Sam taped a bandage over his eye. His back still stung, and his wing was pulsing with pain, but he did not resent his circumstances, nor regret his decision. “I’m not.”


	2. Chapter 2

4

The flames of holy fire fluttered low and steadily, yet their benign simmering belied the strength of their power. Castiel could not pass through the ring.

“This is familiar, isn’t it?” crooned a deceptively soft, feminine voice. A staunch figure stood on the other side of the fire, tailored suit immaculate, black hair perfectly straight and balanced on rigid shoulders. Nearly black eyes bored into Castiel with an almost chilled detachment.

The Winchesters often accused angels of being ‘emotionless dicks,’ but just because most didn’t outwardly show their emotions didn’t mean they weren’t capable of having any. And Castiel knew that Raphael was positively gloating on the inside.

“And now you’re—what was the phrase you used?” the archangel continued. “Ah yes, now you’re my little bitch.”

Castiel clenched his fists where they hung at his sides. He was mentally cursing himself for falling into this situation. He’d received word from one of Raphael’s supporters who wanted to defect. The angel was frightened though, and wanted to meet Castiel alone. Balthazar had thrown a fit.

_“Do you have a bloody death wish, or are you just that naive?”_

_“How is Ananias supposed to trust us if I don’t show him the same?”_ Castiel had argued. Oh, he was rueing that decision now. It was very difficult to fight honorably when one’s opponent had no such inclinations. Castiel was beginning to see that perhaps he thought too much of his brothers. Ananias was here, along with seven of Raphael’s followers, all standing along the periphery and watching as their leader finally triumphed over the rebel. There was no escape this time, not unless God intervened… _Hadn’t He meant for this to be Castiel’s mission, though? How could he fail?_

Perhaps his army would continue the fight after his death. Castiel even had the fleeting thought that Balthazar might take up the mantle of leadership…but that was even less likely than his first thought. Castiel felt a pang of remorse for all those who were depending on him, whom he was trying to protect. The Winchesters, especially…

Raphael stepped to the edge of the circle of fire. “There’s just one thing missing from this picture.” He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. A crushing weight slammed down on Castiel’s shoulders, knocking the breath from his vessel. He tried to resist, but the force pushed harder until his knees wavered under the stress. And then they gave out, and Castiel hit the cement floor of the warehouse hard, the impact jarring up through his bones.

“That’s better,” Raphael said. “I told you that you would kneel.”

Gritting his teeth, Castiel put every last drop of strength into lifting his head against the invisible yoke, and glared defiantly. The archangel could break his vessel’s legs, could pile ten thousand tons of rock upon his shoulders to force his body to bow, but Castiel would never _submit_.

Raphael saw this, and it briefly cracked his calm exterior. He lifted his hand again, and Castiel braced himself for the next attack, but Raphael hesitated and cast a glance over his shoulder. Some of the pressure holding Castiel down eased, though he still couldn’t rise. It took a moment of regaining his breath for him to hear what had distracted Raphael. Music. A soft, soothing chord strum upon a lyre. It was such a strange and unexpected occurrence, that every angel in the place had stopped and tilted their heads to listen.

Castiel wanted to take the chance to regroup, to frantically run through his options, but he found himself drawn to the notes that echoed through the warehouse. It couldn’t be…he hadn’t heard that particular harp played in thousands of years. Peace ebbed and flowed around Castiel’s awareness, brushing his mind and drawing a little piece of him back with it each time the chords crescendoed. He knew he shouldn’t give in, that he was vulnerable and in grave peril, yet the tug was irresistible. His vision blurred, the individual flames of the holy fire melding into a warm orange haze. It was no longer threatening, and with the next note, Castiel was carried away.

o.0.o

Dean held his breath as he stepped into the warehouse. This was probably one of their more crazy-ass plans—using the friggin’ Harp of David to send a bunch of murderous angels into dreamland so Dean could sneak right past them to rescue Cas. Who would also be entranced by the lyre. Dean hoped he wouldn’t have to physically carry the angel out. And he hoped Sam’s fingers didn’t fumble on the harp and break the enchantment. And that it worked on archangels, because Balthazar hadn’t been too sure of that when he loaned them the harp after telling them about Castiel’s fool errand.

Dean kept up a constant mental litany of curses at dick angels, dumb-ass best-friends, and anything else that came to mind. That, plus the earplugs jammed into his ears, kept him from hearing the harp’s song and falling under its allure.

He paused when he first caught sight of the angels, all of them standing around with glazed expressions, as though someone had plucked them out of time and left them frozen. No, not frozen. Dean crept warily past the closest angel, and saw a single tear slowly trickling down his cheek. The distant look in his eye seemed…happy. Dean glanced at the next angel and found the same. This was too weird.

Shaking his head, he turned toward the flickering ring of holy fire, the only other thing in this place that was actually moving. Dean’s heart stuttered at the sight of Cas on his knees in the center, also with an absent look on his face. Dean hurried forward, only to pull up short as he recognized Raphael’s new vessel standing in front of the circle. The archangel was just as subdued as the others, except the eyes, which were blinking, albeit very slowly. Crap, what if he was able to snap out of it?

Dean turned back to the ring of holy fire and quickly grabbed a packing blanket off a nearby crate to put the flames out. Then he knelt down in front of Cas and took the angel’s face in his hands. “Cas?” Dean searched the vacant blue eyes, and let out a sigh. “Okay, man, can you stand?”

Dean didn’t know why he was asking since it seemed Cas couldn’t hear him anyway. Thankfully, though, when Dean moved his hands to Cas’s shoulders and nudged him up, Cas stood with little effort.

“That’s it,” Dean coaxed, taking Cas’s elbow and guiding him forward. Each step was slow, but Cas was easily led, like a mindless puppet that only moved with Dean’s prompting. It was creepy.

“Stop,” a raspy voice croaked out.

Dean whirled toward Raphael. The archangel was glaring at him now, tremors running through his facial muscles as his eyes shifted between focusing on them and dilating with distraction. _Shit_.

Dean tugged more sharply on Cas’s arm, not that it did any good except to make the angel stumble. “Come on, buddy, you’re doing great. Keep going.” Dean’s gaze flicked back and forth between Cas’s face, the exit, and back at Raphael.

A lightbulb overhead shattered, followed by a rumble through the ground. Raphael was blinking more rapidly now, trying to shake off the trance. He took one staggering step toward them before halting again, but the shockwave seemed to have stalled Cas as well.

Dean’s heart was jackhammering now, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Focus on me, Cas. I’ve got you. Just keep one foot in front of the other.” He gradually maneuvered Cas toward the door where Sam was playing the harp. Balthazar said it would take a few minutes for the angels to come out of the trance once the song stopped playing, which only gave them a short window of escape. A rapidly decreasing window if the exploding lightbulbs behind him were anything to go by.

They reached the door, and Dean dragged Cas into the open air. Sam’s eyes widened where he stood, playing the harp, and his fingers fumbled over one chord, making it ring out flat. Dean winced, but jerked his head for Sam to continue playing while they gave themselves at least a little more distance. Unfortunately, walking and playing a harp wasn’t really working, and Cas was still too docile to pick up the pace.

“Screw this,” Dean said, voice sounding muffled and weirdly echoed with the earplugs. He made a ‘cut-it-off’ gesture with one hand, and Sam stopped playing. “Balthazar, I pray thee get your feathery ass over here and get us out now!”

It might have taken a second longer than Dean liked, or maybe that was just the adrenaline and mounting terror talking, but there was a rustle of wings, and the next thing Dean knew, he was standing in Bobby’s salvage yard. Sam was across from him, and Cas in between.

“Good work, chaps,” an accented voice spoke out of nowhere. Balthazar appeared and plucked the harp out of Sam’s hands. “Best put this back before someone gets any ideas.” And then he was gone.

“Hey!” Dean shouted to empty space. “Douche,” he muttered, and popped out his earplugs.

“Cas?” Sam called softly. He’d removed his earplugs as well and was now standing in front of the angel, trying to catch a nonexistent gaze. Then Cas blinked, followed by another. Sam put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Cas, it’s Sam and Dean.”

Cas’s eyes slowly cleared as he turned his head toward the younger Winchester. “Sam? What…” He started looking around. “Where am I?”

“Bobby’s,” Dean spoke up, gripping Cas’s other arm.

“But…I was with Raphael. He had me trapped.” Cas’s brows knit together with intense concentration. “Is this some kind of hallucination? I don’t remember the torture starting yet.”

Dean’s gut clenched at that image. “No, Cas. We came and got you.” He crossed his arms. “By the way, what the hell were you thinking agreeing to a meet like that?”

Cas frowned in confusion, his eyes still blinking as the lingering effects of the trance wore off.

Sam’s shoulders heaved with a sigh. “Balthazar came and told us,” he explained. “He knew any kind of rescue attempt by the angels would probably result in a lot of casualties, so I guess he thought we’d have better luck.” Sam’s mouth quirked ruefully, because yeah, like they were all that equipped to take on Heaven. But they _had_ just pulled one over on Raphael, and Dean was feeling pretty good about it.

“Guy’s a major dick and coward,” Dean picked up, not caring if Balthazar was lurking and overheard him. “But at least he gave us a chance of succeeding. We used the Harp of David to put all the angels to sleep and then went in and got you out. That’s why you probably don’t remember anything.”

Cas blinked owlishly at them, mouth pinched as though he were wracking his brain for some flicker of memory, and coming up empty. “That was incredibly foolish,” he said, gravelly voice managing to sound slightly haughty, but then his expression softened. “But thank you. You’re right…the other angels would not have come for me.”

“You shouldn’t have been alone in the first place,” Dean chastised.

“I get why you did,” Sam jumped in, tone always the more understanding one. “But you can call us for backup too, you know. As humans, we’d fly under the angels’ radar. Just…” Sam let out a huff. “Just consider coming to us sometimes, alright? We call on you often enough.”

Cas’s rigid posture seemed to ease a fraction. “Thank you, Sam, Dean. I…I will.”

Dean clapped him on the back. “Good. You wanna come in for a bit or you need to get back to the troops?”

Cas hesitated. “I should get back.” The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “And thank Balthazar for his interference.”

Dean nodded in understanding; maybe someday when they weren’t fighting to save the world, the three of them could just hang out, enjoy each other’s company without all the other shit weighing them down. But it wasn’t today. Or tomorrow. At least they knew who they could call when trouble came knocking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is a slight AU of season 8. Some lines are from "The Great Escapist"; they're not mine.

3

"I've been acquiring a taste for coffee," Castiel said.

Dean chuckled on the other end of the phone, followed by the rustle of papers being shuffled. " _Finally_."

Castiel scanned the Biggerson's he was currently seated in. They all looked the same, which was what made them the perfect places to flit between to evade the angels. It was lonely though. The first time he'd called the Winchesters after taking the Angel Tablet and fleeing the crypt, Dean had been angry. It'd taken a combination of Castiel attempting to explain, and Sam's mediation, to come to a begrudging sort of understanding. Castiel needed to stay on the run from Naomi and her lackeys. The bunker may have been warded against every possible supernatural entity, but Castiel didn't trust it. He didn't trust himself. Which was why he refused to leave the Tablet with the prophet. Sam seemed to have understood more easily than Dean, and it'd been him to finally convince his older brother to let Castiel go, with the promise that he would check in with them this time. Granted, he hadn't intentionally been ignoring Dean's prayers before, but he was determined to do what he could to mend their relationship. Besides, he missed them.

"You know," Castiel mused. "I remember when you first discovered it. Before you started brewing it, you'd just chew the berries. Folk tale is true, by the way, you learned it from the goats."

" _Uh, okay._ "

" _Hey, Cas_ ," Sam's voice crackled over the line. Dean must have had his phone on speaker. " _You should try pumpkin spice chai tea_.  _It's the season for it_."

Dean made a garbled sound. " _Don't listen to him, Cas. You don't need to acquire taste for froufrou drinks_."

Castiel was about to ask what a 'froufrou' was, when the table started to rattle and the lightbulbs buzzed. "They're getting closer," he murmured.

" _What?_ " Dean asked.

"I have to go." Castiel hung up and took to the ether.

o.0.o

"You have to stop. You have to stop."

Castiel's heart clenched with each pitiful, tortured plea from the waitress. When Naomi finally snapped her fingers and broke the woman's neck, it was a mercy. She was dead anyway, eyes burned out and soul seared by an angel's smiting judgment. There was no healing for that, and therein lay the cruelty.

"We were supposed to be their shepherds, not their murderers," Castiel ground out in frustration. All these people, the bodies strewn across the restaurant, had suffered because of  _him_.

Naomi angled a disgusted glower at him. "Not always, angel. There was that day, back in Egypt, not so long ago, where we slew every first-born infant whose door wasn't splashed with lamb's blood. And that was just PR."

Castiel shifted in his seat, hating the feeling of being trapped. Two angels stood behind him, oppressive sentinels whose invisible wings spread like a partial cage around him. "Well, I wasn't there."

Naomi smirked. "Oh, you were there. You just don't remember it."

Castiel stiffened, and it took all his willpower not to fidget nervously. He had the tablet, and Naomi would never find it. She couldn't touch him this time. But… "How—how many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?"

"Frankly? Too damn many." She snapped her fingers, and a chair slid across the floor toward her, which she eased herself into. "Where is the Angel Tablet, Castiel?"

He glanced away. He knew what was coming, what the price for his insolence would cost. But he took solace in the belief that no matter what she did next, Naomi could not take his free will again. She would not force him to kill Dean. All other forms of torture were bearable in comparison.

When he refused to answer, Naomi ordered two of the angels to search every Biggerson's in the continental United States, thinking Castiel had hidden it somewhere along the way. Then the 'persuasive' beating began. Castiel grunted against the painful blows, but kept his staunch silence.

A muscle in Naomi's jaw ticked, the only sign that she was growing impatient. One of the angels returned, and she stepped away to confer with him. "Did you find it?"

He gave a clipped nod, and Castiel was immediately confused. They hadn't found the tablet; he still had it, safely tucked away in…

"Bring them," Naomi said.

The angel disappeared, only to return a moment later with two more people. Castiel's heart dropped into his stomach. The Winchesters were on their knees, being held up by the angel who had a fist curled into the back of each of their collars. Sam looked shaky and feverish, and Dean had a blossoming black eye. Dean spotted the dead restaurant patrons first, mouth parting in surprise and horror, before his gaze landed on Castiel.

"They were easy to find," Naomi said conversationally. "What with Samuel here resonating from the Trials."

"You know we're doing  _you_  a favor, trying to close the gates of Hell," Dean growled, giving a half-hearted struggle against the immovable angel at his back.

"And I would be glad to help you with that," Naomi replied. "After you give us the Angel Tablet."

"They don't know where it is," Castiel insisted. "I wouldn't tell them."

Naomi stood, leaning over him and gripping the armrests of his chair. She was so close her breath wafted over his face and the open cuts when she spoke. "You will tell me, Castiel. Or I will burn out Dean Winchester's eyes but leave him alive long enough to crawl around this dump, begging for death."

Terror coiled around Castiel's gut. He couldn't let her kill Dean…but if he gave her the tablet, she'd make him do it, and Castiel didn't know which was worse. There had to be some way to get the Winchesters out of here; he just needed to buy some time.

"It's…" Castiel ground out.

"Cas," Dean called. "You don't have to do this."

Castiel turned a saddened look his way. There was so much he wanted to apologize for. Again. So much he wanted to convey about family and belonging, concepts the angels had never been able to understand, even though Castiel had always wanted them to.

But there wasn't time.

Castiel turned back to meet Naomi's gaze and leaned forward. "In the words of a—good friend…bite me." Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a proud smile quirk Dean's lips, which for some odd reason bolstered Castiel's resolve.

Naomi, however, did not appear amused. "Oh, we'll bite. Don't worry."

A sharp report cracked the air, and the angel holding the Winchesters suddenly jerked backward and hit the ground with a pained cry.

"Naomi, darling, miss me?" a familiar British accent spoke up.

Castiel didn't know what Crowley was doing here, but his attention stayed on the Winchesters, trying to see if there was a way they could use this distraction to escape. Dean was openly gaping at the demon, even as he inched closer to Sam to help hold him up. The younger Winchester was not well, and Castiel wished he could surge out of his chair to their side, but he dared not move with Naomi and Ion still crowding him. He caught a reflection in one of the framed pictures of Crowley tilting a gun for Naomi to see.

"Do you like it? I had my R&D people melt down one of your angel blades, cast it into bullets. Seems to do the trick."

"How dare you," Naomi seethed.

"I'm the daringest devil you've ever met, love."

Naomi's eyes began to glow, and a halo of white light suffused around her.  _No_ , the Winchesters still needed to escape. Castiel cast them a frantic look, silently pleading for Dean to slip out with Sam. Except the younger Winchester didn't seem capable of walking.

Crowley aimed his gun at Naomi. "We've been here before, haven't we? Let's see who blinks first."

The gun fired, but Naomi vanished a split second before the bullet zinged through where she'd been standing, and struck the wall instead.

"Hmm," Crowley hummed, and walked around to face Castiel. "Hi, Cas."

Castiel warily shifted his gaze from the demon to Ion, wondering why the angel wasn't doing anything to stop him.

"That's right, Cas. I got me an angel on the payroll. It's that kinda universe these days."

"You traitorous son-of-a-bitch," Dean growled from the side where he still knelt on the floor with Sam. "You angels are no better than demons."

Crowley shrugged, and then lifted his gun toward Castiel and squeezed the trigger. Castiel jolted as searing pain ripped through his stomach. The bullet made from an angel blade not only tore through flesh and muscle, but through his grace as well.

"Cas!" Dean shouted.

Crowley turned to Ion. "Now grab him and follow me."

Castiel felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder, and heard Dean's desperate protest a moment before he was yanked away.

o.0.o

Dean tugged and pulled at Sam's collar, trying to get him to sit up straight. "Sam, come on, we gotta go, man." Dean was trying not to panic about the fact that Crowley had Cas, who had just been  _shot_  with an angel-killing gun. What the hell did Crowley want anyway? The Angel Tablet? Dammit, why did Cas have to run off with the thing and make himself the Most Wanted guy in all of Heaven and Hell?

"D'n?" Sam slurred, eyelids fluttering heavily. "Whas goin' on?"

"We got angel-nabbed, and now Crowley has Cas."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Crowley's an angel?"

Dean would have laughed any other time.

A low groan had him twisting around so hard he almost wrenched his back. The angel who'd grabbed them was slumped against the diner counter, one hand clutching his shoulder where blood and grace were oozing between his fingers. Dean frantically looked around for an angel blade someone might have dropped, but then thought better of it.

Crawling over, he grabbed the guy's shirt and thrust him hard against the panel, making him squeeze his eyes shut and grunt in pain. "Do you know where Crowley took Cas?"

The angel pried his eyes open and glowered. "You think…I'm working with…that scum? He  _shot_  me."

"That's Crowley for you," Dean replied blithely. "Alright then, what about the angel traitor? You guys can track each other, right? Where'd he take Cas?"

The angel stared at him incredulously, and Dean gave him another shake.

"You want Crowley getting his hands on the tablet?"

"You would…" he wheezed. "Go after the demon yourself?"

"Yes. And not because of the tablet you ass, but for  _Cas_. So can you find them or not?"

The angel's brows furrowed in consideration, and after a moment he tried to push himself up straighter. "Very well. I will drop you off outside their location. But I will not help you rescue the traitor."

"Never asked you to," Dean muttered, and then turned back to Sam. Crap, what was he going to do with his brother? Truthfully, if he was going to take on the King of Hell and an angel lackey, he could use the help.

"I…" the angel behind him hesitated. "I can heal him. Not a lot, but enough for…"

Dean's gut tightened at the thought of letting angels anywhere near his brother, but Sam was in bad shape, and Dean needed him. "Alright," he said grudgingly.

The angel winced as he crawled over to place two fingers to Sam's forehead. It took a few seconds longer than normal, but then Sam opened his eyes all the way, the fevered glaze gone and his skin no longer flushed. The angel sagged sideways onto his elbow.

Sam stared in bewilderment at the angel and then at Dean. "What's going on? That isn't Metatron, is it?"

The angel lifted his head sharply. "Who?"

"No one," Dean said hurriedly, and gripped Sam's elbow to silently convey the need to be quiet on that front. "Listen, you good, man? Because Cas needs us."

Sam glanced around at the trashed diner, complexion going slightly pale at the sight of all the bodies. "I'm…I'm okay." He shot Dean a questioning look, but kept silent for now.

Dean nodded that he would explain when he could. He turned to the angel. "You ready?"

The guy narrowed his eyes appraisingly, but then reached out to touch both their arms, and the diner disappeared in a whirl of wind and shadows. They landed in an alley outside a small business in god-knows-where.

"Ion and Castiel are in there," the angel said, nodding toward the building. He took a staggering step backward, shaking his head almost to himself. "Naomi will not be pleased," he murmured before flying off.

Sam finally whirled on Dean, who gave as hasty an explanation as he could while surveying the building for a way to sneak in. Sam was still a little wobbly on his feet, but much better than before, and he was able to make sense of all the details Dean had thrown at him.

"Crowley has  _angel-killing_  bullets?" Sam hissed as they picked the lock on the back door.

"Yup, really not good," Dean mumbled, jiggling the handle until the lock clicked. He eased the door open and peered inside. The hall was empty. He motioned for Sam to hand over Ruby's knife. They didn't have an angel blade to use on Ion, but if they could gank Crowley, they could snatch up that inventive gun of his.

Only, when they finally found an office room with occupants, Crowley was nowhere to be seen. The traitorous angel had his back to the door where the Winchesters were peeking in, and was instead staring hollowly out the window. Cas was slumped low in a chair, his back also to the door. But he was moving ever so slightly, which gave Dean a rush of relief that he wasn't dead. But where was Crowley? Shit, how were they supposed to get Cas away from Ion?

It turned out they didn't need to. Cas rose shakily from the chair and came up behind the other angel. He tackled him and they went down in a heap. Dean and Sam burst into the room just as a pain filled scream echoed off the walls and a flash of light briefly exploded. The brothers stared in shock as Cas rocked backward and slumped against the wall under the window. Then he blinked up at the Winchesters with a frown.

"You're…no…" His face contorted with grief, and he squeezed his eyes closed. "Please just be hallucinations."

Dean's brows rose. "Gee, thanks, Cas."

"Better than ghosts," he murmured, and realization punched Dean in the stomach.

"Shit, no, Cas, we're not dead." He and Sam surged forward, each one crouching down on either side of Cas. "Seriously, look at me." Cas opened one eye cautiously, and Dean tried to give him a genuine smile.

"Did Crowley go back to capture you as well?" he asked.

"No, the angel he shot was willing to help us find you. He tracked asshat over here—" Dean cocked his head toward the dead angel. "And then dropped us off outside before taking off. Even healed Sam a bit."

Cas's gaze shifted to the younger Winchester, and his brows pinched as though he could tell Sam wasn't fully healed. Dean tried to ignore the pang in his chest because he knew the same.

"That was, uh," Sam started. "Pretty badass there, Cas." He glanced at Ion's empty vessel, forehead creasing. "How'd you do that?"

Cas shifted, and then winced. "I dug Crowley's bullet out of my stomach and shoved it through Ion's eye."

Dean's expression went slack. 'Badass' was an understatement. But then his brain caught up with him and he was pulling the blood-soaked trench coat and shirt away from Cas's torso to get a look at the wound.

"Oh my god," Sam uttered.

Dean swallowed thickly as he took in the shredded flesh and exposed muscle, all of it tinged with leaking grace. "What the hell…" The wound was too big for a bullet hole, and stretched far too wide from just Cas digging around in it with his fingers.

Cas dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, Dean, Sam. Crowley…he took the Angel Tablet. He guessed where I'd been hiding it and dug it out."

"Dug it out," Sam repeated, before sucking in a sharp breath. "Shit, Cas, are you insane?" Now his fingers were ghosting over the tattered flesh, probably trying to see if he could put any of it back together.

Dean looked at the injury with new insight he could have done without, and his hand fisted in Cas's coat. "Where is Crowley?"

"I don't know." Cas suddenly flinched and tried to jerk away from them, his breaths panting now. "He got a call…and left."

"Okay, then we gotta get out of here before he comes back."

"I can…" Cas winced, but lifted both hands toward the brothers. "That bunker you found…Lebanon, Kansas, correct?"

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. He would have protested, except he really wanted to get out of here. Besides, the sooner they got to safety, the sooner they could properly tend Cas's wounds. He nodded.

Flying this time was starkly different from the angel trip before. The winds seemed rougher, buffeting Dean as though he'd been sucked into a tornado, and the landing was even worse. He ended up sprawled on the ground, palms scraping through gravel and pain radiating down his spine.

"Ungh, what the hell." He pushed himself onto his elbows and found Sam lying flat on his back next to him. His brother groaned. Dean looked around and was surprised to find they were in the middle of the drive that led to the bunker. Only, why were they several yards out?

He slowly sat all the way up and turned around. Cas was also lying in the dirt road, propped up on one elbow. He looked horrible, blood splattered across his face and clothes.

"Jeez, Cas," Dean muttered, and scrambled over to him.

Cas blinked, and then squinted at the bunker up ahead. "Sorry, I was aiming for the door."

Dean tried to brush it off as an easy mistake since Cas hadn't actually been to the bunker before, even as his pulse started ratcheting up again with worry. He and Sam regained their own balance, and then hauled Cas off the ground. Supporting the angel between them, they hobbled the rest of the way to the secret bunker.

Once inside, they half-carried Cas down to one of the rooms and laid him on a bed where they basically performed field surgery on him, which was not an experience Dean wanted to repeat again. Ever. Cas had insisted he'd heal eventually, and Dean had snapped at him that he didn't care to see the guy's intestines hanging out in the meantime. Cas fell silent after that, stoically enduring the stitching before they bandaged him up and settled him back on the bed. Two minutes after that, Sam retreated to his room to crash.

Dean puttered around the room, cleaning up bloody rags and sutures, and trying not to think of his poor baby left alone in New Mexico.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Cas's low voice penetrated his brooding.

Dean stilled his movements, and with a sigh, walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, resting his arms across his knees. Even though he'd begrudgingly agreed to let Cas go AWOL with the tablet, he'd still held some resentment over it. Now, though, he was beginning to understand what Cas and Sam had been trying to tell him.

"You were that afraid of Naomi? That you had to stick the tablet in your friggin' stomach, Cas?" The bulge of bandages underneath the blanket covering Cas were still disconcerting to see.

His friend's answer was so soft, Dean almost didn't hear it. "Yes. As long as I was touching the tablet, she couldn't…" His voice hitched, and he swallowed hard. "What she made me do to you…I  _couldn't_  let that happen again. I'm sorry, Dean. I know you think I didn't trust you, but that wasn't it. I didn't trust myself."

Dean ran a weary hand down his face, phantom bruises pulsing in response. "I get it, Cas, I do." He let out a heavy sigh. "And I know Crowley having the Angel Tablet is seriously bad news, but…but I'm glad you're back with us."

For a second, Cas almost looked equally grateful, but then he roved his gaze around the walls guardedly. "Dean, if Naomi…"

Dean reached out to grip Cas's forearm. "She can't get you here, I promise. And we'll figure things out, just like we always do." For Cas, for Sam, for Kevin. Because they were family, dammit. And no one messed with Dean Winchester's family.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is an AU I've wanted to write for a while, but it never really came together until now. Some lines from "Holy Terror."

2

The sounds of snapping lashes and strident screams turned to muffled echoes as the heavy door slammed shut behind them. Castiel was dragged to a support column, his back thrown up against it, and his arms forcefully yanked up so that cold metal shackles could be latched around his wrists. Muriel, already bound, was shoved to the floor against the left wall.

Castiel took a shallow breath that wouldn't jar his aching ribs. His elevated arms were tugging on his shoulders and back, also beaten and bruised. Everything hurt more now that he was human, for he had no grace to soothe strained muscles or knit split tissue back together. It was just constant throbbing and stinging. And there would be more to come, he knew.

"This is a bonus, Castiel," Malachi said. "We were tracking Muriel, cowardly holdout that she is, and wonder of wonders, she led us to you."

"Not knowingly," Muriel interjected.

Castiel knew that, and held no resentment toward her. The truth was, the other angels probably would have caught up with him eventually. But why wouldn't any of them believe him that he hadn't  _intentionally_  caused the Fall?

"I've explained in detail," he said wearily. "I don't know how Metatron's spell worked. Therefore, I can't assist in reversing it. I was an unwitting accomplice."

"Ohh, a dupe." Malachi walked over to a tray of surgical implements. "Top-of-the-Christmas-tree Castiel, no more than a dupe."

Castiel felt the weight of gravity seem to increase upon his shoulders. Yes, he'd been foolish. He'd trusted the wrong person and look what happened. He didn't deserve to be an angel anymore, not after all the damage he'd caused. And perhaps that was why the Winchesters no longer wanted anything to do with him. He was not an asset, but a liability. Dean didn't want to put Sam, who was still recovering from the trials, in danger because Castiel always seemed to do the wrong thing, no matter his good intentions. There was a saying about that, one of the few he actually recognized. 'The road to Hell,' or something. Well, chained in this dark, dank dungeon about to be tortured by his own brothers was certainly that.

He protested again that he didn't  _know_  anything, futilely though, and cried out when the blade sliced down his chest. Fire seared through him, leaving him panting heavily in an effort to breathe through the initial intensity. All he could hope for at this point was a quick death…

o.0.o

Sam stormed down the street, staccato stride pounding angrily across the asphalt. The chilly night air burned his nostrils with every sharp inhalation, but he didn't care. How could Dean have done this to him? Tricking him into being  _possessed_  by an  _angel_? There were just so many things wrong with that, Sam didn't even know where to start. Not to mention this 'Ezekiel' was apparently not who he claimed to be, since Dean had overheard the poser in a back alley talking to Metatron of all people.

Sam shook his head against the urge to tear at his own hair. He'd woken up on the floor of their motel room an hour ago, with Dean standing next to some weird blood sigil on the wall. Sam never even remembered leaving the bar where they were having drinks with Cas. Dean had been near frantic, bombarding Sam with questions: did he feel okay, did he feel sick? He was fine, just confused. And then came the explanation.

At first, Sam had been too stunned to even speak. After everything they'd been through, how could Dean do that? Sam had made peace with dying! He was ready! And then his brother had to go and, and… Sam let out a frustrated grunt as he continued his harsh pace. He was headed to Cas's motel, needing to talk to someone other than Dean, because dammit, Sam was seriously on the verge of punching his dickhead brother. And apparently Cas didn't even know what was going on. Sam thought the guy just kept disappearing on them, which, okay, hurt a little. They were friends, after all, had been through a lot together. But  _Dean_  had kicked the now human ex-angel out and told him to stay away. And used Sam as an excuse!

His fingers furled and unfurled into fists, and he had to force his breathing to calm down because he was getting a little lightheaded. He counted his steps as the motel on the corner came into view, hoping to get himself under control by the time he got to Cas's door…though he'd likely get worked up all over again once he explained everything to Cas.

Sam used his fake FBI badge to check with the front lobby about which room Cas was staying in. The ex-angel had booked it under his own FBI cover, so that was easy. Sam headed around back, feeling a small swell of amusement at the image of Cas at that crime scene playing a federal agent. It was weird, sure, seeing him like that. Sam wondered what all he'd been up to in the past few months as a new human…which ignited Sam's anger again because Cas  _shouldn't_  have been off on his own this whole time. They were supposed to be a family, dammit!

Sam's murderous thoughts turned toward Dean again and the hell his older brother was gonna pay for this. As he approached Cas's room, however, all of those violent emotions were suddenly doused with ice at the sight of the door kicked in. Instinct and training took over, and Sam drew his gun before cautiously approaching the room. A quick glance inside revealed no one, but he checked the bathroom and closet to be safe. The place was empty. Cas's phone and fake credentials were on the bedside table.

Sam had a really bad feeling. He hastily scooped up the few personal effects Cas seemed to have, and then hurried back to the front lobby and demanded to see their security tapes. He scanned backward through the footage with baited breath until he finally spotted two guys dragging out Cas and a woman who looked like a state trooper—Sam would get back to that one—and shoving them both into a black van.  _Shit_.

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Dean's number.

" _Are you ready to have an adult conversation, or want to cuss me out some more?_ " came the slightly joking, slightly morose greeting.

"Dean! Cas has been taken."

" _By who?_ " Dean responded sharply.

"I'm guessing angels." Sam paused the footage as the van angled out of the driveway. "Get ready to take down this license plate."

There was a brief pause and mild rustling on the other end. " _Go._ "

Sam relayed the info, then gathered up his stuff and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The pace he set returning to their motel was the same harried one he'd left in, this time driven by worry and mounting fear rather than anger—though there were still traces of that. After all, Cas wouldn't be in this mess if Dean hadn't sent him away. But Sam couldn't let himself dwell on that right now. They needed to find Cas…before it was too late.

Dean had hacked into the traffic camera footage by the time Sam got back, and then it took a few more hacks into ATM machines to fill in gaps before they finally tracked the van's movements all the way to the industrial district. In wordless agreement, the brothers packed up their angel blades and climbed into the Impala.

The drive was also silent. Dean focused on navigating the various streets, while Sam was busy cutting into his arm and using his blood to paint some angel-banishing sigils on several pieces of cardboard. They had no idea how many angels they'd be facing, possibly too many to take on with just blades. At least they wouldn't have to worry about banishing Cas along with the winged dicks this time. Which was both heartening and somewhat sad.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Dean finally spoke into the tense silence.

Sam didn't answer right away, his fingers tracing the memorized lines for the sigil. There were several ways he could take his brother's statement—Cas, Gadreel, or even just the fact that Sam found out. He decided to focus on the one that was currently most pressing, and was surprised by how his voice came out much softer than the roiling emotions underneath.

"Cas is wanted by every angel who fell from Heaven, and we're in a town where they're running around killing each other. What did you think was gonna happen?"

Dean didn't respond, only revved the gas harder as the Impala roared down the road. When they reached the industrial district, they had to slow down and start scanning abandoned lots for the van. Sam hoped it wasn't parked inside somewhere, because searching all these buildings would take too long; Cas had been missing for several hours already.

"There!" Sam exclaimed, and Dean cranked the wheel sharply, pulling into the next driveway.

He threw the car in park. "Okay, how we gonna do this?"

Sam handed him two of the cardboard, ready-made sigils, and slipped the other two inside his jacket, one on each side. Dean copied him.

"Almost like a literal ace up your sleeve."

Sam didn't even bother to deign the pathetic attempt at levity with a response. Climbing out of the car, he withdrew his angel blade and took a deep breath. He heard Dean's door slam.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Dean asked warily. "'Cause I can—"

"Shut up, Dean. We're getting Cas out of there  _now_."

His brother rolled his neck in discomfort. "Okay then, let's go."

They headed straight for the door, pausing outside and finally making eye contact long enough to simultaneously count to three before barging in. There was only one angel standing guard just inside, and Sam quickly dispatched him with a stab to the heart. Unfortunately, an angel's dying throes was bound to draw attention. Both brothers started down the corridor, every muscle coiled to act instantly for when they ran into someone.

They intercepted two angels next, and both were slain without hesitation. But around the next corner were five who came charging at them, and Dean opened the fold of his jacket where the painted cardboard was hidden, and slapped it with his palm. A white nova filled the dingy space, followed by several shrieks. When the light dissipated, the angels were gone.

"What are the chances that hit all of them?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. He wished he knew the radius on a banishing sigil, but that's why he'd made backups. Falling silent once more, they resumed their foray into the building. They searched several rooms, which could only be described as torture chambers. Blood splattered the walls and floor, and empty manacles hung from hooks in the ceiling. So far they were all empty though, which led Sam to think they'd been filled with angels. The factions were hunting each other, after all. His stomach turned with each passing minute as he hoped to find Cas in better condition than circumstances were suggesting.

Shouts echoed from up ahead and behind, and the Winchesters halted. They held their ground—and their breaths—as pounding footsteps surrounded them. Sam had one hand fisted in his coat, and waited till the last possible second before revealing the sigil and smacking it with his other palm. Another bunch of angels sent back to Oz, or wherever the hell they went with Heaven closed.

He let the smoldering piece of cardboard fall to the ground, then looked at Dean. This place was huge, and they had no idea where to find Cas…if he was even in this place at all. But Sam refused to give up, and picked another corridor to march down.

A few minutes later, he pulled up short and gestured sharply for Dean to stop and listen. The color drained from his brother's face when the echo of a scream filtered down the hallway a moment later. They both started running that direction. At the end of the dimly lit corridor was a single door, closed. But the pain-filled sounds were definitely coming from the other side. Sam didn't even bother to think before barging in. He registered a tall, muscular guy standing in the center of the room with his back turned, though he spun around at the door banging open. Sam recognized the grizzled face from the motel security footage, and immediately thrust his angel blade through the man's throat.

Dark eyes flew wide an instant before filling with radiant white light. The clank of metal echoed in the room as the scalpel he'd been holding hit the concrete. Sam threw his other arm up to shield his face from the ensuing explosion, and then yanked the blade out to let the body drop to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he lifted his gaze to find dazed blue eyes blinking back at him.

"Oh my god," Sam uttered. " _Cas_." He heard Dean suck in a sharp breath. Cas was cuffed to a support column, his shirt ripped open and his chest drenched in blood. His face was a mottled mess of blood and bruises as well.

Cas was staring at them with an odd mixture of disbelief and disquietude, almost like mistrust. "Wh…what are you doing here?" he managed to get out, voice dry and hoarse.

Why would he even have to ask that?

Dean finally moved, stepping forward and cupping the sides of Cas's head. "We're getting you out. Okay? Just hang in there. Sam?"

But Sam had already started searching for the keys. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the surgical accoutrements dripping crimson on a nearby tray. It'd been a long time since the sight of gore had made him physically sick, but this was coming pretty close. His gaze briefly roved over the dead woman in the corner, the state trooper he'd seen with Cas on the video. Another angel, then.

He spotted a ring of keys on a shelf and snatched them up. When he got the first cuff unlocked, Cas's arm fell limply to his side. Dean shifted to brace him, and Cas grunted when the movement brushed against the ex-angel's exposed chest.

"You're okay, you're gonna be okay." Dean kept up the steady mantra as Sam undid the second manacle.

Cas groaned again and squeezed his eyes shut. "'S not safe. Angels…"

"Are gonna wish they never came near my family," Dean growled, as though  _angels_  were the only parties at fault here.

Sam slung Cas's arm over his shoulder. Now was not the time for him and Dean to have it out. They shuffled toward the door, Cas suspended between them. The guy did his best to put one foot in front of the other, but kept stumbling. And every time Sam or Dean adjusted their grip, it elicited a stifled moan which made Sam's chest constrict.

They almost made it to the exit before enraged shouts rose up behind them. Sam glanced over his shoulder to find a handful of angels in pursuit.

" _Run._ " Cas tried to push the Winchesters away from him, and Sam was so not having any of that shit.

Dean was trying to shift his hold on Cas and reach the cardboard panel in his jacket, but Sam's mind was awash with fury. He let go of Cas, who would have toppled to the ground if Dean hadn't lashed out with both hands to hold him up. Sam pulled out his piece of cardboard, and with a flooding sense of satisfaction, slammed his palm down on it. The contorted faces of the angels before they were ripped away to another part of the earth was just the icing on the cake.

Dean grunted under Cas's weight. "That better be the last of them."

Sam ducked in to help brace Cas again, and they resumed their staggered retreat to the Impala. Once there, they eased Cas into the backseat, and Sam retrieved their first-aid kit from the trunk before climbing in beside him. Dean got behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, and booked it out of there.

Sam finally got a concentrated look at the wounds, and started feeling sick all over again. There was so much blood— _human_  blood. Sam hadn't realized that he had yet to get used to the idea of Cas as human, which meant these slashes and puncture wounds would  _not_  be mending themselves. "Shit, Dean, this is bad. Like, he needs a hospital bad."

"That's…probably the best place…to drop me," Cas half-mumbled. He'd slumped down in the seat, head tilted back against the rear dash.

Sam saw Dean's shoulders go rigid in the front seat.

"We're not dropping you anywhere, Cas. You're staying with us."

Cas let out an uncharacteristic snort. "Now I'm hallucinating. Blood loss does that, correct?" He lifted his head with what looked like great effort in order to gaze down at his chest, and fingered the tattered edges of his shirt. "It's a nice break, from Theo…although, everything…still hurts." Cas sagged against the seat again, eyelids drooping.

Sam's heart leaped into his throat, and he leaned over to pat Cas's cheek. "Cas, hey, stay awake. Dean, hospital now!"

Dean craned his neck to look back at them, expression raw with fear. He hit the gas harder, and the Impala lurched forward with increased speed. Sam kept prodding Cas to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and the ex-angel was completely unconscious by the time they pulled up outside an emergency room.

Three hours later, Cas was all stitched up and swathed in bandages. He'd been placed in a single room in the ER and hooked up to a couple monitors, an IV drip, and another line delivering a transfusion of blood. Sam sat in a chair by the bed, keeping vigil. Dean had stayed long enough to hear from the doctors that Cas would be okay, and then retreated with some dumb excuse about finding a motel and getting it heavily warded enough for when Cas was discharged. Sam had felt the storm cloud of guilt radiating from his brother, but hadn't cared to try doing anything to ease it. He didn't have the energy. Or inclination.

Cas shifted under the light bed-sheet, face scrunching up in pain. Sam leaned forward and squeezed his hand. Dark lashes fluttered against starkly pale skin before finally managing to open.

Cas blinked blearily. "Sam?"

Sam smiled. "Hey."

Cas's gaze tracked across the room. "Is this a hospital?" he rasped.

"Yeah. You were pretty roughed up, but the doctors said you're gonna be fine. Are you in pain?"

Cas's brow furrowed. "Yes…" he answered slowly. "But not as much as before." His throat bobbed. "Thirsty."

Sam reached for a cup of ice chips the nurse said he could give Cas when he woke. He fed Cas three before reluctantly pulling away and saying they had to take it slow.

Cas licked his lips, and asked hesitantly, "Where…where's Dean?"

Sam sighed. "We're avoiding each other."

"Is it…because of me?"

"No!" Sam winced and glanced at the open door to make sure he hadn't drawn the nurses' attention. He turned back to Cas and clasped his forearm. "No, it's not because of you. In fact, there are some things I need to tell you."

Cas listened with rapt attention, eyes gradually growing wider as Sam explained about the Trials leaving him in a coma, Ezekiel who turned out to be Gadreel, Dean's reasons for making Cas leave. The heart monitor started beeping, and Sam had to stop as a nurse dashed in.

Cas shook his head at her and politely insisted he was fine, though he complained that he was thirsty and wanted more than ice chips. She gave Cas a dubious look, Sam a warning one, and then left again with a promise to check with the doctor about letting Cas have water.

Sam lowered his voice. "I never wanted you to leave, Cas. I thought you were the one who didn't want to be near us. Dean  _never_  should have done that to you, and I'm so angry that he did that I just want to…"

Cas reached over to grasp his wrist. "He was trying to save you. I know that doesn't excuse how he went about it, but he didn't mean to cause you pain, Sam."

Sam ran a hand over his hair. "Are you saying you forgive him? He kicked you out onto the street when you had nothing, and he didn't have your back yesterday when he should have, when  _we_  should have been there to stop those angels from taking you."

Cas lowered his eyes, and Sam found himself hanging on the edge of hearing what the answer might be. Maybe that was why he'd wanted to talk to Cas in the first place, because if the angel didn't forgive Dean, if he shared Sam's righteous anger, then it was justified. But if Cas forgave Dean…surely Sam could as well?

"Yes," Cas finally said. "I forgive him."

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "Why?"

Cas looked up again, and there was an anguish in his eyes that was reminiscent of Dean's. "Because I have to hope that one day my family can forgive me."

Sam's heart clenched, and he didn't know what to say to that. Cas had been trying to help Heaven when Metatron had tricked him and caused the Fall, an act which all the angels now blamed Cas for. It wasn't the same, not exactly, but how many times had Sam's own road of good intentions led him and the world to destruction? He still needed to have a serious talk with Dean, but perhaps Sam could now manage it with resolution in mind, rather than blame.

He patted Cas's arm. "The angels may be your siblings, Cas, but your real family, we want you right here with us. So you're coming back to the bunker, and the next person to try to kick you out is gonna get a beanbag round to the face."

Cas's eyes drifted shut, morphine still swirling through his system. "I have no idea what that is, but the first part sounds nice."

Sam smiled as Cas drifted off to sleep. Then he pulled out his phone and texted Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just assume Cas stole an angel's grace another time so this can flow back into canon.


	5. Chapter 5

1

Castiel moaned as consciousness returned. His brow furrowed in pain, which caused a fresh spear of agony lancing through him as skin pulled around the metal spikes driven into his forehead. What was going on? Where was he? Sensation gradually returned to his limbs, and he realized his arms, legs, and torso were bound with chains to a chair, so tight he couldn't move anything. There was also a cold, metallic ring around his neck that seemed to be anchored to the back of the chair so that he couldn't move his head, not that he wanted to with the pounding pulses emanating from each metal rod jammed into his brain. Castiel's breaths started coming more raggedly as he fought to make sense of what had happened.

He'd been hunting Metatron, hoping the ex-scribe of God would know how to combat the Darkness. Castiel had been close, too, or so he thought. But before he'd been able to confirm whether Metatron had truly been in Denver, Colorado, he'd had an unfortunate run-in with some angels. Apparently, they'd been on the same trail.

Castiel thought he'd put up a fight; at least, he hoped he did. Everything was a bit fuzzy. Not that it mattered, because here he was, captured yet again. How long had he been here? Had he missed his check-in with the Winchesters? After everything with the Darkness and Rowena and Castiel nearly dying from the attack dog spell, Sam and Dean had set up a system where they were all supposed to check in regularly, no matter what. Castiel knew that if he didn't send them a message within a few hours of the scheduled time, the Winchesters would come after him. Part of him loathed the thought of dragging the brothers into his problems yet again, but at the same time, it gave him something to hold onto amidst the maelstrom of confusion and physical suffering—knowing that someone out there was searching for him, and not because he was on their 'shit-list'.

Another metal spike torqued, another explosion of agony behind his eyes, and for a moment, Castiel was in a sterile white room in Heaven with a red-headed woman looming over him. But then there were splashes of gray concrete and speckles of crimson, and the blurred faces shifting in front of him were male. Castiel couldn't even remember their names...and that should have worried him, right?

"Don't break him permanently yet," one with a black beard chastised. "We haven't gotten the information we need."

A second figure with a gangly build snorted. "Maybe he's telling the truth and he doesn't know where Metatron is."

_Yes_ , Castiel wanted to cry, but his tongue didn't seem to be working. The words he wanted to say echoed strangely in his head, as though he had said them all before. Had he? Had he already pleaded with his brothers to work together? That they had similar goals and a common enemy?

_"Yes, Heaven does have a common enemy, Castiel. You."_

He remembered the device being strapped to his head, and then the first deluges of agony drowning out his screams.

Castiel gasped as another spike was twisted, his voice long since shredded. The angels must have been taking a sadistic pleasure in their methods, in addition to simply trying to gain information. Information he  _didn't have_.

"This is pointless," the second angel groused. "No one even knows how to make this device work properly."

The one with the grizzled beard crossed his arms and bored his vitriolic gaze into Castiel. "Fine, you're probably right."

Castiel would have sagged in relief had the various chains not been holding him rigidly in place.  _Mercy, brothers, please_.

"Wipe everything. And don't worry about precision; I want him reduced to nothing more than an empty shell. Then his poison will never be able to taint Heaven again."

Castiel didn't have time to brace himself before several spikes were rammed deeper at the same time. He felt his entire body jerk, every nerve ending consumed with fire. Interspersed throughout the blinding white haze were flashes of faces, each one flickering like bolts of lightning. Names should have been attached to them, and the places, but language was beyond Castiel's grasp at this point. It seemed to go on forever, and then it stopped. Not the pain, but the nova inside his head. The pins moved, but this time they were being withdrawn. The searing fire receded, leaving behind an icy sting in its wake.

Castiel blinked, and one of the faces that had bombarded his vision moments ago coalesced into a solid shape standing in front of him. Long brown hair framed eyes pinched with worry. The mouth was moving, but Castiel couldn't hear anything. Large hands pulled the last spike out and hastily yanked the metal device off Castiel's head, throwing it to the ground. Then those hands were cupping his face, that soft gaze desperately searching. And though everything hurt, Castiel felt a sense of…warmth, assurance,  _safety_ , seeping through the physical contact.

"Cas, can you hear me?"

So there was sound now— _words?_ —but what did they mean?

"Where are the keys?" That was another voice, one as rough as Castiel's tormentors, and yet the undercurrent of violence in this tone was oddly reassuring. It promised retribution, just not directed at  _him_.

There was the sound of flesh being smacked, followed by a faint jingle. Then another large shape was crouching beside him and fiddling with the chains. Castiel felt them tug against his bruised muscles before something clicked and those large hands were pulling the iron links away. The steel collar came off next, and without it, Castiel found himself tilting forward. Hands grabbed his shoulders and splayed across his chest.

"Whoa, easy."

Castiel blinked dazedly at the two humans. "I know you," he rasped, finally able to string thoughts into words, though his voice was thin and reedy. The two men exchanged alarmed looks, which Castiel didn't understand; he was feeling rather relieved at the revelation.

The shorter man spun away. "What did you do to him?" he snarled.

A garbled chortle responded, and Castiel rolled his gaze toward it. There was a body sprawled on the floor, black streaks arching up and out around it, and slumped against the wall behind it was another man, clutching a wound in his stomach that was oozing blood and bluish-white light. No, not a man…Castiel wracked his brain to fill in the gaps. Angel.

"What he deserved," the injured one spat. He tried shifting his long, wiry legs, and ended up wincing. "Castiel ruined Heaven. He ruined  _everything_."

_"They hate you."_  Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the echo, which stabbed through his heart as painfully as a tangible knife would have.

The man with hazel eyes drew forth a silver blade. "I am sick and tired of all you dickbags blaming Cas for shit other angels caused. Metatron cast you out. Naomi probably had half of you lot programed like robots." Heavy boots purposefully strode toward the wounded angel.

Castiel's heart jolted. No, he didn't want…he needed…what? Something important. "Don't," he croaked. "Please."

"Hey, easy," the taller man soothed, hands still braced against Castiel's chest. "We're not gonna hurt you."

"And he's never gonna hurt you again either," the other said.

Castiel shook his head, which only made the pain worse, and he lost precious seconds when his vision whited out in response. He could feel his grace slowly knitting back together, and with it came the pieces he was desperately grasping at.

" _Dean_."

The man with the angel blade stopped abruptly, though he didn't look back. "You with us, Cas?"

The taller one— _Sam_ —was leaning forward again, trying to catch Castiel's gaze. "Cas? Hey, you okay?"

"Please," he continued, hardly able to recognize his own voice. "So many…have…have died already…"

"He tortured you, Cas," Dean said in a slow, measured voice. "Tried to do worse."

Castiel attempted to stand, but his limbs weren't responding and Sam was still holding him. "I don't want…more to die."

Dean didn't move for a long moment, and the angel stared back at the Winchester with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. Finally, Dean lowered the blade. "Cas is more of an angel than any of you dicks ever were. And the only reason I ain't gonna kill you right now is because he would actually  _grieve_  for your sorry ass." Stepping away, he walked back to Castiel, pausing to look over his shoulder and pin the other angel with his gaze "But if you or any other angel comes near him again, I will hunt every last one of you down. You understand? And if you doubt how serious I am, just remember that I'm a Winchester; we put both Lucifer and Michael in the Cage, ganked the head of the Leviathans, and defeated a Knight of Hell." Dean grabbed one of Castiel's arms and slung it over his shoulder, easing the angel up out of the chair. Sam took Castiel's other arm so that he was supported between them.

"You broke the world more times than you've saved it," the injured angel lobbed back. "Word is  _you_  unleashed the Darkness."

"And we'll take care of that too," Dean responded automatically, voice full of conviction. "But I mean it; don't think for one second that I won't drop everything if you don't leave Cas alone."

Castiel thought he should say something, but his head was spinning as the Winchesters started carrying him forward. The other angel—and Castiel finally stopped thinking of him as a brother—stayed where he was and watched them go.

The burst of fresh air that buffeted Castiel when they emerged from the warehouse was both invigorating and harsh. Fortunately, a sleek black vehicle sat parked only a few yards away. ' _Baby_ ,' Castiel's mind automatically supplied, but that didn't make sense; he was fairly certain this mechanical trap was not a human child. His brain must still be trying to put things back together.

They reached the car, and the Winchesters tucked Castiel into the backseat. He sagged against the upholstery. Everything felt so...heavy. Sam climbed in next to him and opened up a med kit on his lap. Scooting closer so that their shoulders were bracing, Sam pressed a cloth against Castiel's forehead. He leaned into the contact; he'd been on fire before, but now he was so cold.

"Turn on the heat," Sam said after Dean had started the engine. A puff of cool air billowed from the front, making Castiel grimace away from it. Sam's other hand came up to clasp the back of his neck and hold him still. It was gentle, though, not restraining like the collar had been. "Easy, Cas, you're okay. We got you."

Castiel was inclined to believe him, and a few minutes later, the blowing air turned warmer, washing over his chilled skin.

"He healing?" Dean asked.

Sam removed the cloth from his head. It was replaced a second later, and the younger Winchester's voice came out tight. "Not yet."

Several moments of silence followed, save for the steady drone of the Impala's engine. It was comforting, familiar.

"What do you wanna do?" Sam asked quietly.

Castiel listened to Dean's tense inhale.

"Bunker's safest. Think he'll make it?"

"Can't see that stopping at a motel will make a difference," was Sam's frustrated reply.

Dean met Castiel's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Cas, come on, man, say something."

He furrowed his brow, thinking about what he should say. He finally settled on, "I'm tired."

Dean's expression softened with a mixture of relief and continued concern.

Sam shifted next to him, and Castiel groaned as his aching limbs protested being jostled. Then Sam was gently tilting his head down to rest against the man's shoulder while still holding the cloth to his bleeding head. "You can sleep, Cas. Dean and I are right here. You're safe. Just close your eyes."

He obeyed, lulled into a calming sense of security with the familiar rhythm of two beating hearts and the rumble of an engine wrapping him in a warm cocoon of sleep.

o.0.o

When awareness returned, Castiel registered that he was lying prone on a soft, cushy surface, and it was silent save for the rustle of paper every couple minutes or so. He pried his eyelids open. The sight of the bare ceiling, the scent of clean linen, and the sound of old pipes rattling somewhere gave him an odd sense of deja vu. He flexed his fingers, slowly cataloging the state of his body.

The crinkle of turning pages stopped abruptly. "Cas?"

He turned his head to find Dean sitting in a chair to his left. The man's shoulders were coiled tight, and he was looking at Castiel with a guarded expression.

"What's my name?"

Castiel frowned. "You forgot?"

Dean huffed out his annoyance. "Just say it."

Confused, but willing to oblige, Castiel swallowed to moisten his dry throat. "Dean."

The hunter's expression eased only marginally. "You know where you are? And be more specific than 'earth.'"

Castiel shifted his gaze around the room, taking in the cold concrete walls that clashed with the warmth of the wooden writing desk and chair Dean was currently occupying. He let himself relax further into the comfortable mattress. "Home."

Dean's eyes widened briefly, and then the wariness bled away and he leaned forward to rest his arms on the side of the bed. "You scared us, Cas."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Dean said somewhat sharply. "It was those bastards who tortured you."

Memories flashed through his mind, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught.

"Cas?" Dean called worriedly.

"I'm alright," he rasped, and forced his eyes open to focus on his friend, the man who had been his anchor throughout everything. Not just this recent experience, but for years now. He had grown to consider the Winchesters an adopted family of sorts, while still retaining a love and loyalty for his original one. But that had changed. Sam and Dean were the ones who always forgave him for his mistakes, who continued to care about him despite everything. The angels didn't understand why Castiel always chose the Winchesters, but it suddenly made sense to him with perfect clarity. They were his real family.

Castiel's chest felt tight with brimming emotion. "Thank you."

Dean reached out to grip his shoulder, and then called for Sam. Castiel was safe; he was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more one-shot to this! It wasn't exactly an "opposite" of everything leading up to now; more like "5 Times Castiel was Heaven's Most Wanted...and one time it didn't turn out how he expected."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a liar of myself with this chapter—I said I'd never write a death fic. Except it's really more of an ending-ending to the series than a tragedy. And it's happy! Or sappy. Still, apologies to my beta, who I forgot to warn before she started reading this.

+1

Castiel stood in the woods outside the bunker, staring down at four grave markers. Two old, two fresh. The Winchesters had defeated the Darkness with the help of the Reapers, but only after agreeing that this was the end. No more chances after death, no more breaking the natural order. The brothers would die this time, and they would do so together. Of course, each one had separately begged the head Reaper to take the other to Heaven. Even Castiel had pleaded on their behalf. And so the world was saved, and the Winchesters were where they were meant to be. While Castiel was…adrift.

For so long he had fought for the Winchesters, for Heaven. The latter had cast him out, disowned him utterly and completely. It had hurt, but then there'd been Sam and Dean to ease the pain of losing one's family, since they were also that to him. Castiel had sacrificed much to protect them. And now, his mission was over. His last act on behalf of the brothers was to give them a hunter's funeral pyre. The wooden crosses were just a symbol of remembrance, like with Kevin and Charlie.

Castiel had puttered around the bunker for several days, tidying things up, putting books and artifacts away, until he realized there was little point. There were no more Men of Letters to take up residence once again. Thus he sealed the place, and returned to the graves, not knowing quite what else to do.

Leaves rustled behind him, and he turned to find two angels. His shoulders visibly sagged. Apprehending Metatron and returning him to Heaven's prison had apparently not been enough to redeem himself. And Castiel knew with a heavy heart that no one would be coming for him this time. So he let them take him without a fight.

The trip to the portal was silent. Castiel was done pleading, and it seemed his captors were saving their taunts. Or perhaps they simply meant to throw him in a cell with Metatron. That would be a new form of torture indeed.

When they arrived in Heaven, though, he was escorted not to the dungeons, but to an area of lush trees and flora. The angels brought him to a clearing in the garden, and then discreetly backed away. Frowning, Castiel roved his gaze over the scenery, until a prickle of a new presence drew his attention. He turned to find an older black man in simple jeans and a khaki coat standing before him.

"Joshua," Castiel murmured in surprise. He hadn't seen or heard of the angel since the Fall, and assumed that he had died like so many others whose wings had burned to ash.

"Castiel." The gardener appraised him silently, causing Castiel to roll his shoulder in discomfort.

"I take it you're leading Heaven now."

Joshua shrugged. "It had to fall to someone after Hannah. And there aren't many angels left."

Castiel gritted his teeth. "You'll have one less to worry about if you get it over with quickly."

The other angel's lips twitched marginally. "You think I brought you here to kill you?"

"I was…hoping for one last mercy, yes."

Joshua slipped his hands into his pockets. "There are a fair number in Heaven campaigning for your death. However, there's a greater number demanding otherwise."

Castiel felt the last dredges of hope evaporate. An eternity of torture it would be then.

Joshua was regarding him thoughtfully. "I brought you here to stand before them."

Castiel merely nodded. He was tired of fighting, of trying to make himself understood amongst his siblings. Of praying to a father who had never answered. He wordlessly followed Joshua out of the garden, down a white, sterile corridor, and finally through a gold-plated door. Castiel blinked at the sudden change in light, stark whiteness replaced with concrete walls and subtle lamps. This looked like the bunker…

He whirled toward Joshua, intent on demanding an explanation for this seemingly new form of torture, when a loud voice paralyzed him.

"Cas!"

And then there were Dean and Sam, jogging down the steps into the study room. Castiel could only stare in bewilderment as Dean heartily embraced him as the hunter had once done in Purgatory years ago.

He heard Sam chuckle. "This is the part where you hug back, Cas."

Castiel lifted his arms automatically, still too stunned to fully process what was happening. This must be the Winchesters' heaven, but why would Joshua…?

Dean broke away and Sam stepped in to deliver his own hug, squeezing tight enough to draw a small grunt from Castiel.

"I don't understand," he said when Sam pulled back. Was he being given another chance to say goodbye? Or one last memory to hold him over after he was locked away forever?

"Turns out Sammy and me are heroes upstairs," Dean said with a smug grin. "Defeating the Darkness and all, something not even archangels had been able to do on their own." He threw a cheeky look at Joshua, which made Castiel tense. He had thought the Winchesters wouldn't be able to cause any more trouble in Heaven…but he probably should have known better.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I gotta admit, Heaven is pretty awesome. They let everyone come see us—Bobby, Ellen and Jo, Kevin and Charlie."

"Even Mom and Dad," Dean jumped in with a beaming grin that lit up his eyes in a way nothing on earth ever had. It warmed Castiel's heart to see them so happy.

"That's good," he said, a genuine smile melting some of the defeat in his expression. "You both deserve it, after everything."

"Yeah, there was just one person missing," Dean replied, and cast a meaningful look at Joshua.

The angel nodded. "Castiel, I have pronounced judgment on your fate. You are to be imprisoned for eternity—here in the Winchesters' heaven." Joshua's mouth quirked. "Some might call that a cruel punishment indeed."

Dean crossed his arms in mock indignation. "Hey."

Castiel blinked, unable to form a coherent thought. "But…I thought…most of Heaven wanted me dead."

"The angels were overruled," Joshua explained, which really was not much of an explanation at all.

Sam smiled, and reached out to squeeze Castiel's shoulder. "We've been putting up quite a fuss, actually. Everyone has. I, uh, don't think Heaven usually experiences revolts from its tenants, and the angels didn't know what else to do to get us to stop. And so Joshua finally agreed to bring you home." Sam hesitated. "Um, the deal was you'd be stuck with us. You wouldn't be free to move around anymore…" He swallowed. "Dean and I were hoping that'd be a better alternative than whatever else the angels wanted to do…"

"You…" Castiel fumbled, gazing at Sam and then Dean. "Did that…for me?"

Dean cocked his head in a 'well-duh' expression. "We never left you behind before; you think we'd let a little something like being dead stop us now?"

Castiel's lips twitched, and he struggled to regain his composure. "My mistake. I should know better than to underestimate you."

Sam's mouth turned up in a tentative smile. "So, you're okay with this arrangement?"

Castiel felt the tension in his shoulders drain away in relief. Sam must have seen it, because he visibly relaxed too.

Dean clapped Castiel's other shoulder. "Come on, let's go tell everyone we kicked the angels' asses."

" _Dean_ ," he hissed in reproach. Joshua could still rescind his judgment.

Sam stepped between them and the docile looking angel, bowing his head in a sign of respect. "Thank you."

Castiel craned a look over his shoulder as Dean was trying to lead him away. "Yes, Joshua, thank you…for mercy."

The elder angel smiled softly with a trace of sadness. "It has been a long time since angels have exercised such. And, Castiel," he called.

Castiel paused, as did both Winchesters flanking him on either side. Protective, unifying.

"I know how you've strived to do penance. You can find peace now." And with that declaration of absolution, Joshua turned his back and walked through a shimmering door that suddenly appeared and then vanished with him. And for the first time in a very long time, Castiel felt…light. As though a great burden had been lifted from his chest.

Dean and Sam were tugging him further into the bunker, to where the sound of growing voices resonated throughout the air, full of joviality and laughter. It was almost overwhelming after the long period of silence Castiel had endured on earth since the Winchesters departed. And then a blessedly familiar gruff voice broke through the din.

"Hey, Feathers! You finally made it."

Castiel smiled. He was home, truly home, at long last.


End file.
